by Laura Kaighn
Vesarius’ mouth gaped. His brow furrowed over coal orbs. “I was wrong to share this with you.” Shoving back his chair, the Vesar stood. Reflexively one hand supported his injured side. “How could I have believed you would understand this isolation I must endure? You also sought it. Vesar honor,” Vesarius explained punching his right shoulder in emphasis, “is beyond your feelings for your dead husband. I trusted that you would be different. That you might comprehend the Vesar soul. I was wrong.”
Dorinda was on her feet now also. “Vesarius, I don’t want to argue with you again. But by your very convictions you contradict yourself. By leaving, you are hiding. By avoiding your feelings you’re avoiding the truth, the very essence of cowardice.”
Huffing indignantly, Vesarius threw up his arms. He released a terse breath. “As a human, I must forgive you your ignorance.”
“My ignorance?”
“Yes. Excuse me. I will be outside meditating.” Vesarius stomped out the side door then stopped up short to expel a curse. “Huaj´im.” Marching back inside, avoiding Dorinda’s trailing stare, Vesarius tramped into the living room to snatch up his pack. He was grateful Dorinda had carefully refilled it. But as he strode past her again and out into the late afternoon, Vesarius’ only thoughts were of lighting his pit fire.
The sun was setting behind him as Vesarius watched the coals flicker. Grabbing his simmer pot from beside the fire ring, the Vesar trod to the lake to fill it half full. He then returned to the smoky blaze. Plopping down roughly, Vesarius turned his back to the cottage and the woman inside.
“Calm, resolve,” the warrior murmured crossing his legs and closing his eyes. The Vesar’s ears picked up the quiet padding of Tundra nearby, keeping watch. Vesarius ignored the dog. Instead, he concentrated on stilling his riotous mind.
Into the heating water he crumbled his herbal mixture. As the fumes drifted across his nostrils, Vesarius breathed deeply the healing vapors. He repeated his focus words. From behind lidded eyes, the warrior sought the peace he had found impossible throughout most of his solitude in Dorinda’s woods. She had a home here, a spiritual tie to her past. Vesarius had none. Over the years, even the Pompeii had become a contrived abode. For without his honor, the warrior was a lost soul. Why, then, had he continued to seek redemption? Serenity? Perhaps only Brahmanii Sule knew the reason for his willfulness.
Vesarius drew another slow inhale to clear his questions. In this endeavor to meditate, however, part of the Vesar’s brain registered a discrepancy. Within the rising steam he discerned an unfamiliar scent. Had a little dirt and wolf saliva ruined the herbs’ healing properties? As the warrior’s thoughts drifted with that aroma, a voice from his past counseled him: “Try just sniffing it, first. It only affects certain Kin Companions, each a little differently.” The warning was but a detached whisper.
Suddenly the Vesar’s heart was lead in his shoulder. His thoughts were a jumble of flashing phantoms dancing behind closed lids. His breath came in a sudden, agonized gasp. “Pahkhé-de!” Vesarius’ gaze widened to the growing darkness. Above him, blinking eyes multiplied. A pair of them glared down with fatherly disapproval. “Pahkhé-de, Eihn stlás. My soul … it aches. Eihn nejht rhehiern. The battle is lost.”
“Vesarius? What are you saying?” There was a distant, murmured voice, strangely familiar yet weak. “Vesarius, what’s wrong? You’re talking gibberish … to nobody.”
“Jcha-neshdá eih, Pahkhé-de.” The warrior’s tightening throat choked at the chilling air, the strange fumes. “I have failed you again. In my heart I have loved. I have leaned against her strength, relied on her reasoning.” He gathered a ragged lungful. “She is right, Father! The living are more important.” With a great sob, Vesarius’ chin flopped against his chest.
“Sarius? Are you all right?” Cool hands were on his shoulders.
Leaping to his boots, Vesarius jackhammered his fists. “Release me of my pledge, Pahkhé-de. Please. I do not deserve to rest with the stars. They mock me, those many eyes.” Vesarius frantically hunted the sky. “Pahkhé-de, where are you? Tell Mahkhé-de I am coming.” His legs pumping, he bolted for the trees.
“Vesarius! Come back! Tundra, go after him. What’s wrong with you? This is no time to play. Tundra, something’s wrong. Get off me!”
Vesarius’ lungs gasped and sputtered in his escape. Those critical eyes in the heavens followed. “Sren-tar eih yo! I do not deserve your attentions. Let me die.” The warrior dashed through the woods. His fists combated the swinging arms surrounding him, tugging at his flailing hair. “Father, forgive my weakness. I am not worthy of Mother’s name.” As Vesarius stumbled on, tripping and bumping, his fear rose like skeletal hands from the dark earth. The very trees and boulders, seemingly by command, blocked his path.
One stout-bodied oak was abruptly before him. Vesarius could not avoid its lowered arm. Careening into its embrace, the warrior smacked the ground with his spine. Head swirling, he wiped blood from his burning cheek. He moaned then rolled to his knees. There he tottered queasy with disorientation. “Eih nejht … I do not want to die this way.” His vision was obscured by dangling, dark locks. The bitterness of his own lifeblood was upon his desert-dry tongue. “Huaj´im, Father,” he croaked. “Guide me to that accursed place where lost spirits reside. If Mother is there, tell her I love her.”
Weakened by his injured side and the effects of the Kinnip, Vesarius stumbled vertical to stagger on. Mechanically he wandered, roots tripping, branches scraping, boulders assaulting his knees. His own defeated sobs choked him. “All I have done, in vain ...”
“Nooo!” growled a voice thick with rage.
Planting his boots at the sound, Vesarius swept aside his disheveled hair. “Pahkhé-de?” The dark vision before him snarled and sank low on its haunches. “I found you.” The spirit beast snapped viciously and tried to retreat. “Where is Mahkhé-de?” There was a metal clinking sound. “Father. You are trapped in the spirit world. What can I do?” The Vesar dropped to his knees, his arms imploring. “Is there no way to release you? I bid you only peace.” The ghost of his parent growled, eyes a golden fire. The chain to the leg-hold trap was taut with fear. Laying on his stomach, Vesarius slunk forward. “Father, do not be angry. I will release you. Your spirit will be free to join the stars.”
There was a gasp from behind him then. A frightened voice urged, “Vesarius, don’t touch it. It’s a wolf!”
“Pahkhé-de, I implore you. Free me as well from my duty to Mother. She has forgiven me these many years. Please do the same.” Reaching out slowly, Vesarius clasped the spirit’s wet, shaking limb. “Grant me peace. I will honor you both. I promise.”
The wolf stilled. It whimpered as the warrior’ fingers pried loose the trap’s tension. With a concerted growl, the metal jaws finally snapped open. The animal yowled in agony then slunk farther into the darkness. Kicking himself to his boots, Vesarius tried to follow. “Wait, Father. Tell me. Have I my honor? Do you release me also?” The wolf howled, low and pining, then limped off into the woods. In defeat the Vesar slumped to the dank humus.
“Vesarius?”
The warrior raised icy, tear-streaked eyes to the dark sky. “Pahkhé-de! Tell me!” he roared, barely aware of his throbbing cheek and bleeding scratches. Then a shuffling sound and a golden pair of hooded eyes manifested.
“Get away from him,” the frightened voice warned.
Vesarius grasped the spirit’s shoulders as a warm muzzle snuffled at his face. “Thank you, Father,” he sobbed into its fur. “I too wish you peace.”
The remainder of the night was a blur to the Vesar. Groaning with the effort, someone lifted him to stand. Vesarius stumbled forward under her guidance his eyes lolling toward his bumbling feet. “Thank you, Father. Honors to you.” He raised his straggled head to the night sky just visible through the canopy. “I see you, Father. I see the eyes of Mother too. I have searched many times, been saddened by your absence. Now … I am content.”
“Come on, Sarius. One foot in front of the other. We’re almost there.”
Trudging on, Vesarius leaned heavily against the guiding spirit beside him. “I am free,” he explained his voice hoarse from his previous tirade. “My deeds have been my redemption. I no longer need to question my … honor.” Vesarius’ knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground.
“Tundra, help me!”
Vesarius felt the warm fur of another spirit beside him. “I am grateful for your guidance, but the stars are within reach now. I … I am ready to die.”
“What? No you don’t! I don’t know what was in that pot, but you’re not going to die because of some whacky weed. Get up, Tankawankanyi. I can’t do this alone. Help me!”
Some part of his brain registered the strained commands of the voice at his ear. Vesarius willed his muscles to work, and soon they were moving again.
Opening onto a patch of tree-lined ground, the forest revealed the squat structure of a cottage with yellow-hued windows, so much like his father’s spirit eyes. “I am home.” He stomped toward the warmth and shelter.
“Not quite,” the guiding spirit’s voice countered with a groan. “There’re still stairs and a door.” When the gray boards remained mountains to his listless boots, the voice urged him on again. “Pick up your foot. One leg onto the step, then push. Come on, Vesarius. Good. Now the other. I ... I can’t do this without your help. You’re too damn heavy. Sarius!” The steps leaped to greet his knees.
Someone sobbed beside him. “What have I done?” Vesarius gazed through his tangled hair. A figure hunched on a step. When the rhythmic moaning continued, he realized who it was. This spirit had a name. “Dorinda?” There was no reply. Panting, Vesarius twisted his body to sit upon the steps. His legs were trembling with the effort, and his heart was a quivering icicle in his shoulder. “I ... I am cold.” He shivered through the declaration. “Is there no warmth?”
“Yes. Inside.” Dorinda released a heavy, pain-wracked sigh. “But you have to get there first. And you’re too heavy for me -”
“Are you hurt?”
Dorinda’s answer was strained. “I hit my face on the railing.” She sniffled then added, “I’m cold too, but I won’t leave you here. Vesarius, you’ve got to get up and walk. You’re not that hurt, just disoriented. Look at me.”
When Vesarius raised his eyes from his hands, Dorinda brushed back his mop of hair. He tried to focus on her face. “Dori?”
“Yes, Vesarius.” The woman’s voice was muffled, her right cheek held in her palm.
“Now you are the one who requires ice. I will get some.”
“That’s great. You bring the ice. I’ll be on the couch.” Dorinda rose, still bracing her injury, and tramped up the stairs past him. “Well? Get me some ice,” she urged from the porch.
“OK.” Vesarius lurched awkwardly to his boots, his fists clutching the railing. “You will be on the couch.”
“Right.”
With his brain battling the haze of the Kinnip herb, Vesarius forced his frame around and up the two remaining steps to the porch. “I am coming.”
“So’s tomorrow,” Dorinda countered tersely. Inside now, Vesarius trudged through the kitchen, following her. “What about my ice?”
“Oh, yes.” Vesarius bounced to a stop then pivoted clumsily. He lurched forward again, this time toward the food preserver unit.
“There’s a towel in the top drawer by the sink,” Dorinda’s muted voice reminded from the living room. “Wrap the ice in the towel and run it under the cold water. Just a little. Not dripping, just damp.”
“OK.” Fumbling with the ice, Vesarius dropped several cubes before he reached the sink. His handful clunked into the basin. Then he reached for the drawer and cloth within. “I found the towel,” he slurred.
“Splendid. Now wrap the ice and wet it,” came the dry retort.
“OK.” Drenching the towel, Vesarius then shook out the excess water. He laid it out on the counter. Next the Vesar scooped out the ice from the sink and dumped the cubes in the center of the soaked cloth. He pincer-gripped each corner and gathered the towel together. It hung sling-like and leaking over the floor. “I am coming.” When he reached the living room, Vesarius considered Dorinda’s wounded expression. “Did I do it right?”
Slouching in the well-worn sofa, the woman glowered up at him. “Terrific, Sarius. That stuff really did a number on you. I thought you were using healing herbs.” She took the proffered towel and wrung it out over the rug.
Vesarius flopped down next to her. He explained to the best of his foggy ability. “It must be the Kinnip, from Yuri. The wolf disheveled my pack. I was … angry. Too angry to watch what I was doing. I must have mixed the Kinnip in with my herbs by mistake.” He shook his head to clear the mist then teetered in his seat, brain reeling. “Malicious weed.”
“I’ll say.” Dorinda’s face was half-covered with the ice pack. “It’s definitely not meant for Vesar use. You were hallucinating, calling out in gibberish to no one. I guess you saw ghosts.”
“I saw my father,” Vesarius asserted blinking and rubbing his heated temple. “He has been trapped in that darkness too long. Now he is free, and so am I.” Vesarius groaned, closed his eyes and grabbed his throbbing skull.
“Headache?”
“Yes. I need to lay down.”
Dorinda rose to help Vesarius back to his feet. “Come on, Mr. Wanderlust. We’ll get you to bed.” She still held the ice pack to her cheek. “You can sleep it off.”
“OK,” Vesarius mumbled following her to the next room.
“Here. Sit down.” Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Vesarius plopped onto the bed edge. Dorinda set aside her ice pack to tug off the Vesar’s torn and muddied sweater. “You’re certainly rough on your clothes. Now, I’ll need to change this dressing, so relax for a minute.”
Slouching atop the bed, Vesarius allowed Dorinda to remove the medallion pinned at his shoulder. She released his strained ribs. “Stay there. I’ll get another bandage.” Dorinda disappeared into the living room and returned with another strip of sheet. Folding it, she rewrapped the Vesar’s ribs this time apologizing quietly when he grunted in discomfort.
Then, straightening, Dorinda considered the remainder of his muddied clothing. “All right, now the leather pants and boots. I’ll run them through the sonic cleaner.”
Vesarius shivered in the cottage’s chilled air. Her watchful supervision was met by his wrinkled brow. “Are you sure you want to watch?”
“Tell you what. I’ll go turn on the heat while you undress and crawl into bed. Then I’ll come back to tuck you in.”
“OK.” Vesarius bent stiffly to unlace his boots then tug them to the floor. Standing, he next peeled the soiled trousers from his still quavering legs. Finally Vesarius allowed his sweat-stained and naked body to collapse onto the mattress. With a grunt he yanked at the loose coverings, tucking them up under his chin. Lastly Vesarius closed aching eyes and listened to the pounding rhythm of his own heart within his skull. When he heard Dorinda return, he sighed and pulled the covers closer around him.
“You all right?”
“No,” he murmured.
“Still cold?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get some warm water and a cloth to clean your face.” Dorinda turned to leave with his dirtied clothes.
“Stay, Dori.”
“I’ll … be right back.”
When she was by his side again, Vesarius thrust an arm out from under the covers to grasp her hand. “Please stay. I … am falling … a deep abyss. A well of lost souls. The Kinnip.”
“Do you want some aspirin?” Even in the soft light, her bruised face betrayed her concern.
“No. Just you. I do not want to be alone. Ever.”
“All right. I’m right here,” she agreed softly. “Close your eyes.” Dorinda began washing his soiled and bloodied face from the basin of warm water. The Vesar’s last conscious recollections were of her warm body seated beside h
im. Her free hand wiped clean his wounded cheek, his scratched arms. Then Dori’s fingers gently untangled his matted hair.
Chapter 16: Family Culture
Someone shifted beside him. Vesarius drew in a revitalizing breath and opened his eyes to smile. No disturbing dreams had bothered his sleep. The waking night, however, was still a blur. What had happened to him in the woods? “Father,” he murmured remembering the golden eyes in the dark. “I am forgiven.” With that realization, Vesarius rolled over.
Curled atop the covers was Dorinda, her crown of auburn hair wispy about her sleeping countenance. That face was angelic in a drowsy blush though marred by the swollen bruise along her cheekbone. Vesarius reached over to gingerly trace the contusion’s edges with a single fingertip. Moaning softly, Dorinda stretched her legs and shivered, still asleep. Her dirt-speckled sweater and facade made her seem childlike, fragile. Her hands were tucked under her chin. Shivering again, Dorinda pulled her arms in closer to her body.
Slowly, so as not to wake her, Vesarius slid the blanket away from his own body. He wrapped the woman then added the warmth of his bare arms across her slighter frame. Now draped only in the thin sheet, the Vesar lay content to breathe Dorinda’s sweet hair and feel her rising torso beside him as she slept. He too drifted back to the darkness.
Some hours later, Vesarius awakened to a distant bark. Morning sun filtered in through the gauzy curtains. Hearing Tundra bark again, the Vesar knew the malamute was happily playing with Noah down by the lake. Vesarius smirked. He drew the warm body beside him closer into his arms. Stirring, Dorinda bent her head away from his neck, her eyelids still heavy from slumber. “Good morning, Green Eyes,” he greeted. Propping himself onto an elbow the warrior gazed into her widening jade pools.
“Vesarius,” Dorinda mumbled groggily, “am I dreaming?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because you’re still here.” She blinked as if to purge her vision of some surreal haze. “And you look happy.”
“I am content.” Vesarius settled back into his pillow with a slight grin and half-closed eyes. “I am here. With you.”